by Kathy Jay
‘Truthfully, I like you best undressed.’
‘That’s deeply unhelpful.’ She withered him with gleaming eyes. The last few days had passed in a blur. He’d lost sense of time. She made him smile. More than that, she made it hard not to smile. He liked her unconventional dress sense, and her wonderful hair. But it wasn’t about her look, because he liked her from the inside out and to top it all off her body without clothes did indescribably good things to him.
‘Tonight, you’re going to be one half of a Hollywood power couple.’ She smirked like she’d never heard anything quite so hilariously unlikely. ‘I’m not being funny,’ he insisted, ‘There may not be a limo. There may not be a red carpet. But when you walk into the party tonight, you are going to be the most stunning woman in the room.’
‘I love that you believe I could be anywhere near that person, but, honestly, I just need to turn up looking presentable, say my hellos, hold my head high, and go.’
‘And you will. Let’s think about this. What would Maggie say? Let’s call her.’
He pressed dial and speaker, handed her the phone and when her friend’s voice answered she spilled her guts. ‘It’s me. Joe’s home. And there’s a party at the restaurant. And I’m in a shop. And I need help.’
‘Why are you on Nick’s phone?’ Maggie asked.
‘Because,’ she said sulkily and pouted in his direction. ‘It’s all his fault.’
‘Not Joe’s?’
‘His too.’ Layla grudgingly admitted. ‘Mostly his to be fair. What should I wear?’
‘You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. In other words, you have to look like you’re not trying too hard.’
She pulled a face. ‘Oh my gosh. I’m losing the will to live. What’s the difference?’
‘The key thing is to arrive at the party looking absolutely amazing and as if it’s taken no effort at all.’
Layla pinched the bridge of her nose and scrunched up her face. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Where’s Nick?’
‘Right here.’
‘Are you and he …?’ Maggie asked.
‘Sort of. Yes.’ Layla said, raising her eyebrows at him. ‘Not right this minute obviously.’
He stifled a guffaw.
‘So, you worked out what to do with him then?’
‘Funny! You could put it that way. I suppose. He’s taking me to Paris.’
‘Really?’ Maggie’s voice resonated with delight and surprise. ‘Right. Give me Nick.’
Layla passed his phone back to him, and he switched off speaker, thinking he shouldn’t risk any other raised eyebrows in the store. Layla swished the curtain on her changing cubicle and vanished behind it to take off the frothy cappuccino dress. By the time she stuck her head out from behind the curtain he’d deciphered Maggie’s advice.
‘Wait here.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘We need sophisticated understated glamour. She said along the lines of the dress she wore to the Wells Wish Foundation Gala at the Empire State Building. She looked awesome. In the perfect dress so will you.’
He took out his phone again to show her a picture of Maggie in New York. He speedily scrolled and held his mobile out for her to see.
‘Who’s the girl in the photo?’
Damn it, in his hurry, he’d hit the wrong image.
‘No one important.’ Completely thrown by his stupidity, he stopped dead, lost for words. ‘Just the kid of … of an ex-girlfriend, actually.’
‘She sent you a picture of her daughter?’
He felt ashamed of the lie, claiming Beth was no one important. Damn it. This thing was bubbling just below the surface. He wanted to admit that Fran and Beth were the real reason he couldn’t face the world right now. But it wouldn’t be fair to dump his problem on her.
‘We lost touch. I guess she decided it was time to catch up.’
‘Pretty girl.’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
He peered at the picture, taking in the features of the smiling girl for the hundredth time. She had messy-on-purpose shoulder length brown hair and a long slender nose, a little turned up at the tip, just like her mother. And her eyes … looking at them was like hearing a whispered secret, seeing a memory of some part of himself that he’d rather forget.
He searched for the right picture, the one of Maggie, and held it out to Layla. ‘See?’ he said, ‘The look’s been tried and tested. We just need to find something similar.’
He did a circuit of the fashion department, stared at a store mannequin artfully draped in a silver gown, the kind of thing his mother loved, totally over the top with a price tag to match. He rejected it, cornered the nearest assistant and showed her the photo of Maggie looking stunning in a full-length sequined graphite and black zebra print dress, the back sculpted low.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘So not quite as formal as this, shorter would be good, and my … significant other doesn’t need to sparkle from head to toe, but the overall look …’
The assistant nodded and politely listened to his floundering attempt at fashion styling. ‘If it’s a fab little black dress you’re after, how about this?’ She held up a dress with a flattering neckline adorned with shimmering diamante buttons. ‘It has a certain je ne sais quoi.’
Layla looked amazing when she emerged to show off the dress. The column of black set off the colour of her hair.
‘It’s beautiful, I love it, but …’ She extracted the label from somewhere at the back of her neck and contortedly squinted at the price. ‘It’s not right for tonight.’
‘What do you mean, it’s not right? It’s perfect. Trust me. I know what works.’
‘It really suits you.’ The assistant backed him up, adding in an effort to appear unbiased, ‘I’ll leave you to think about it.’
Layla disappeared and returned in her jeans and paint-spattered tee holding the dress at arm’s length.
‘What can I say to convince you?’
‘I can’t afford this,’ she protested quietly. ‘It was a nice thought. But I can dig around in my wardrobe. I’m sure I’ll find something that will do.’
‘Give it to me. I’ll get the assistant to put it back.’ As lies went it wasn’t a bad one. There was no way she was leaving the store without that dress.
‘I’ll nip downstairs and see if I can find a new lippy. There might be something on sale. I’ll see you down there.’
Five minutes later, she was chatting with the girls at one of the makeup counters when he joined her. ‘Success?’
She beamed like the cat that got the cream, and held up a tiny bag. ‘Yep.’
‘Me too.’ He pushed the strings of the carrier bag containing the dress over her shoulder. ‘I got you this.’
‘What the—?’
He cut her off. ‘One the girls upstairs called the salon in the basement for me. They’ve had a couple of cancellations so you’re booked in with the junior nail technician and the senior hair stylist.’
‘What happened to not trying too hard?’
‘Thanks to my crash course with Maggie, I gather looking effortlessly amazing doesn’t mean no effort’s been made.’ She opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her the chance. ‘I’m taking care of it. You’ve looked after me this week, now it’s my turn to do something for you.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘It’s Friday the thirteenth!’ Layla grabbed Nick’s arm. ‘Show me your watch.’ He twisted his wrist and she glared at the numbers in the date box, the metallic strap glinted in the sharp rays of the setting sun.
‘Forget about it. It’s not important.’
A taxi had dropped them a few feet from the entrance to the beachside restaurant. The air was warm and the sun had turned the sky golden pink over the sea. Propped back with large wooden planters of roses and marigolds, the double doors to the restaurant had been flung wide open, and the sound of chatter and laughter, people having a good time, spilled o
ut.
Layla drew in a deep breath and let it all go. ‘I’m superstitious.’
‘I know you are. Superstitions don’t count for anything. I told you before, we make our own luck.’
‘I beg to differ,’ she argued. He radiated male vitality and he looked stellar in the clothes he’d shopped for while she was in the salon. ‘A party on Friday the thirteenth is bad luck.’
‘What happened to sacking off the bad luck?’
‘I said I’d try, I didn’t make any promises.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m willing to bet that somewhere in the world Friday the thirteenth is a lucky day.’
Her emotions had run high over Joe – anger, disappointment, embarrassment. She straightened her shoulders.
Nick locked her hand in his. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ His firm touch filled her with strength. ‘Let’s do this thing.’
Trish greeted them at the door and pressed a blue cocktail complete with orange straw and pink paper umbrella into her free hand.
‘I’m so glad you could make it.’ The hint of dark circles beneath her eyes had been skillfully concealed by flawless makeup. ‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ Trish repeated, all excitable and distracted. ‘So, so glad!’
Joe’s father shook Nick’s hand over-enthusiastically. The impression that she’d stepped onto the set of a soap where the role of plus one for the groom’s dumped ex had been written in especially unsettled her. She powered through and painted on a smile.
‘You’re looking well.’ The older man’s condescending tone, albeit unintentional, had the effect of making her feel like she’d been struck down with a bout of something contagious, and really shouldn’t be out yet.
She slurped down half her lurid cocktail in one disreputable go, disregarding the straw.
‘She looks stunning.’ Nick’s voice rumbled loudly through the restaurant stopping conversations mid-sentence. ‘Absolutely sensational.’
Okay! Don’t overdo it.
Surprisingly, heads bobbed in apparent approval as people got back to what they’d been saying. She downed the remainder of her drink, and plucked another one from a tray offered by Emily the new girl as the chit-chat built into forced jollity.
She scanned the restaurant. The table centres matched the planters and in one corner a hastily rustled up three-tier cake, complete with ivory fondant icing, orange ribbons and topped with yet more flowers, stood out.
When Layla’s mother appeared, Nick casually withdrew the arm that had been protectively draped across her shoulders. ‘I’ll get some real drinks,’ he murmured softly against her ear. ‘More than one of those things and I’ll be legless.’
‘Lightweight.’
He laughed and went to the bar. Shelly hustled her into a corner.
‘He’s right.’ She took the cocktail from Layla’s hand and set it down on the nearest table. ‘I’ve no idea what’s in this, but it looks and tastes like mouthwash.’
‘Mother! How rude.’
‘There’s a rumour going round that you and Nick are running away together. To Paris!’
‘Mother!’ she hissed. ‘Please lower your voice.’
‘Is it true?’
‘Paris? Maybe,’ she dithered. ‘Running away? Not so much. I’ll be back on Monday. You won’t even notice I’ve gone. If I actually go, that is.’
‘Are you going, or aren’t you?’
Layla picked up her confiscated drink and twirled the pink cocktail umbrella. ‘I haven’t told Dad. I haven’t arranged cover. And there’s Ophelia to think about.’
‘I’ll mind Ophelia. And you can leave your father to me.’
‘Do you think he’ll cope?’
‘It’s a weekend off. Nick’s not asking for your hand in marriage.’
‘Been there, done that, and got the jilted-before-I-got-anywhere-near-the-altar t-shirt to prove it,’ she sniped.
‘There’s no need to be prickly.’
Perfect! She was getting a telling-off. So much for sophistication. ‘I meant how will Dad manage changeover day?’
‘I’ll give him Emily’s number.’ She discreetly pointed a manicured pink nail at Jasmine, who was vociferously regaling the new waitress with her own wedding minutiae. ‘Failing that, he could ask Lady Muck to pitch in.’
‘Mother!’
‘Pigs might fly!’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Layla said. ‘Pulling her weight isn’t Jasmine’s forte. But she’s got staffing issues at the gift shop and she’s been feeling poorly. Pregnancy hormones kicking in.’ A knot of emotion for her mother tightened beneath her ribs. Because she’d fallen pregnant Shelly had down-sized her dreams, only to find herself putting up with an unfaithful husband and faking contentment. And for what? In the end he’d left anyway. Layla crossed her fingers behind her back. She’d die if the party ended in a scene because either she or her mother lost the plot, incapable of stomaching keeping up appearances a second longer.
Shelly stretched out her pink painted fingernails. ‘Do I clash with the décor?’
Layla hugged her. ‘In a good way.’ Her mum had pretending that everything was okay down to a fine art. ‘How are you feeling about it all?’
‘I’m …’ Shelly gulped. ‘I was about to say “fine” but the word’s never felt less fine. I’m making a stab at acting cool with things but I’m only just holding it together. It probably shouldn’t, but Jasmine expecting and planning her wedding feels like déja vu.’
Their eyes rested, like a spotlight, on her father. Relaxed, a pint of beer in his hand, he was gregariously telling Joe’s parents a story that made them laugh.
With a small smile Shelly shook her head slowly. ‘Good luck to him!’ She touched her daughter’s arm. ‘I mind that Joe’s not marrying you.’
Layla sipped her reclaimed cocktail. ‘This really doesn’t taste good.’
‘I’m cross with Joe. He’s been so thoughtless. He treated you terribly. He’s upset his parents. The more I think about it the more I wonder why we’re here.’
Layla stopped herself from commenting that Shelly was the local expert at tolerating bad situations. ‘We’re keeping up appearances.’
‘To pot with that.’ Shelly stepped backwards and accidentally on purpose put a heel through a balloon. Oohs followed by laughter broke out above the loud pop. ‘I thought the sun shone out of Joe, but he put himself ahead of you. I didn’t say anything because you and he were making a go of things.’ Shelly twisted her thumb and forefinger nervously around the empty spot where there used to be a wedding ring. ‘Your dad and I weren’t exactly a prototype for married bliss, so it wasn’t my place to weigh in with an opinion.’
‘Joe did the right thing the wrong way. We weren’t meant to stay together.’
‘Maybe you had a lucky escape. It’s funny how things work out.’ She looked around as if searching for someone. ‘One blue drink was enough for me. It’s gone straight to my head. Look. I match with the cocktail umbrellas.’ She only diverted the conversation momentarily. ‘There’s no point promising to be together forever if you don’t mean it.’
Layla’s fingers worried at the clasp on her bracelet.
‘Go and have fun. Starting with Paris.’ Her mother picked a rose from the nearest table centre and pulled the petals off one by one, dropping them onto the floor around their feet. ‘He loves her, he loves her not. He loves her, he loves her not.’
‘Stop!’ Self-consciously, stifled by the atmosphere, lost without Nick, Layla plucked the half-destroyed flower from her mother’s hand and put it back in the vase. The volume of chatter had risen, ever more excitable as people knocked back drinks. Because he’d been swamped welcoming guests, she’d avoided Joe at the door. While he was circulating around the room she stole a quick glance. Grinning broadly, he looked nauseatingly content. In ankle-length ivory chiffon, red hair braided and twisted artfully around her face, Lainy rocked the bohemian beach bride.
‘So about Paris? Is
it what we used to call a dirty weekend in my day?’
‘Mother! You’re ruining my attempt to channel ice cold indifference. First off, it still is your day. And secondly, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘That’s a yes then.’
‘I didn’t expect you to be quite so on board with the idea of Paris. You do get that it’s a fling?’
‘You make a lovely couple. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’
‘Now you’re being fanciful. That cocktail didn’t just go to your head, it scrambled your brain.’
‘I plead insanity.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Seriously though. Joking aside. He’s a lovely guy. Much nicer than the papers make him out. But I’d hate to see you fall for another commitment-phobe only for him to waltz off with some other woman. Like Dad and Joe.’
She winced. ‘Did you close your ears to what I just said?’
‘Ignore me if I’m overstepping the mark. Pouring cold water all over everything isn’t my intention. A weekend in Paris is fantastic. Don’t lose your heart, that’s all.’
Returning from the bar with two cocktails Nick cut in, ‘Sex on the beach anyone?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
‘Mother!’ Shelly nabbed a glass and walked off giggling inappropriately. Layla glared disbelievingly. ‘Is that what you call a real drink?’
He laughed. ‘Your mother seems to think so.’
‘My father’s engagement has left her a sandwich short of a picnic.’
‘Should I go after her and get that drink back?’ Nick looked perturbed. ‘Do you think she’ll unravel before the night is out?’
‘Not a chance. Mum would rather stick pins in her eyes than let her true feelings show.’ She blamed herself for the years of disillusionment her mother had clocked up. ‘I’ll pass on the sex on the beach thanks. I’m pacing myself.’
He cocked an eyebrow and drank it himself.
Cocktails gave way to plates of delicious food and wine, desserts, more wine. All the while, Nick stayed attentively at her side. Together they turned heads and she lost count of how many compliments the outstanding little black dress collected. Like compass points, Joe and Lainy and Layla and Nick remained strategically positioned on opposite sides of the restaurant.
